Prickly Heat
by Dirty Liza
Summary: Abuse, sex and sanctuary. A montage of Faith’s life, and how the tables turned from childhood to powerful adolescence.
1. Faithless, Hopeless

**Author's Apology: **I delight in the fact that a 600 word fic can have 6 chapters, tee hee! Sorry. Indulge me in my annoying habits.

**Summary: **This is a study of human nature, and how our childhood can shape the adults we become. Through a montage of Faith's life, we see how the tables turned from childhood to powerful adolescence. There's one chapter (for each of the 3 themes – abuse, sex and sanctuary) about Faith as a child, and a chappie for each theme about Faithy the adolescent.

**Note: **I got carried away writing Faith's slayer dream sequences in The Last Supper, lol! Prickly Heat can therefore be seen as kind of a sister fic to the Last.

**Prickly Heat**

Faithless, Hopeless…

It should hurt you more. It really should. It's all you can think about. You're not even looking at what you're doing. You can't follow the pieces of glass. From the floor to your hand. Each one marinated red. From your hand to your mouth. Is it blood or wine, and why don't you notice it? Do you know that mommy's gone now? It's quiet again, she's passed out, you don't have to swallow the broken glass. You told her it was an accident but…

It really should hurt you more.


	2. Dirty Girl

Dirty girl...

You didn't know what it meant, did you, when the woman told you to "Say please"? You just looked her up and down and wondered what it would be like with an old lady like her. You really wanted her lollies, but she kept staring at you so hard her eyes might hurt. Your parents had shown you one way that always got you whatever you wanted. None of this 'please' crap.  
So you thought you might just do it the way mommy likes. Rubbing and…that.  
You almost cried when the old lady pushed you away.


	3. Last Year's Girl

Last years girl...

You have one sanctuary. Your favourite. It looks like half a golden heart and you wonder who belongs to the other half. You dream of finding out one day. You feel you will most certainly die of tiredness but the MacDonald's playground is always open. The sky drips your colours over the cruel earth– blue loneliness, orange fear, pink hope. Other kid's early morning screams pierce through your skull, but their laughter washes over you like a warm blanket. The yellow tunnel isn't always free, but it's warm and safe and you've got a wicked punch that scares even the older kids.

Curl up as small as you can. Mommy will notice you're gone soon.


	4. Next Year's Girl

Next Year's Girl…

You wanted him dead, you NEEDED him dead. You thought you laughed when you drew the knife through his flesh and stole his last breath. It was a cry Faith. You were lost in your past and you punched the knife into the demon's heart, over and over and over and over and…  
To you, the dirty beast represented everything evil and bad. Not your mother, not your watcher, not the ones who gave up on you, nor the abusers or the rapists.

The dirty beast represented you.


	5. Dirty Woman

Dirty Woman…

You know you'll have scratches where the harsh, cold concrete wall licked your back. Maybe on your face too. You'll be able to tell later, when the tears come to sting your cheeks. If they come.  
You told him you wanted it rough, and you took what you wanted. Want Take Have. But it still hurt, didn't it? You've never wondered if Petite morte refers to the death of your boredom, or your innocence or your soul…


	6. Consequences

Consequences…

You marvel at the little things you notice.  
The way your ankles flip-flop as you walk. The clicking sound your heals make as they unstick from the tiles with each step. The way your tendons protrude from your feet and disappear every time you move. The inky tattoo of nightclub admission stamps, permanently staining your right inner-arm. The way your fingernails glow purple as you clutch the bourbon bottle so tightly it might fuse with your skin. The perfect rippling of the water in the toilet bowl…  
You marvel at the little things you notice. And then you marvel at the fact that you only marvel at these things when your blood alcohol level is soaring.

And suddenly you know what it is to be your mother. Because you've become her.


End file.
